


the night migrations

by sithblood



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, deafness, sad guy talks about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 21:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19912957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithblood/pseuds/sithblood
Summary: Telling the truth is always easier when nobody but you can hear it.





	1. Chapter 1

_And you, who’ve been with a man—_

_after the first cries,_

_doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound?_

The first time it had happened, they’d been about to fight. That seemed like the way things went between them, nowadays, the playbook of Ben and Callum, either fucking or fighting. He’d been helping Whit choose the right colour of table-toppers for the reception, and Ben had been drinking and having sex with unknown amounts of men in Shoreditch until the small hours of the morning. Neither of them were doing much in the way of looking after themselves.

It didn’t bother Callum, what Ben was doing. If he wanted to roll into work late, stinking of booze, filthy, unshowered, unshaved, then what was it to him? As long as he kept his distance, and didn’t annoy him at the parlour, then it was all gravy. Really.

“Callum Highway, bride-to-be. Oh, come on – don’t look so excited to see me. You’re almost a married man.”

Callum started, then blinked up at the open door. He hadn’t heard him come in. There seemed to be three certainties in Callum’s life, nowadays – death, taxes, and Ben Mitchell appearing from the shadows to irritate him, unprovoked, when he least expected it. On the other end of the line, Whit asked if there was someone else there with him, that she’d narrowed the flowers down to a possible three.

“No – just work – yeah, I’ll talk later, babe. Okay, love you. Bye.” Ben smiled as Callum pressed end call and put the phone down, leaning back in his chair, quietly bracing himself for whatever bullshit he’d decided to needle Callum with today. They’d had sex again, not even three days ago; sometimes, Ben liked to hold it over him, as if he had the monopoly on Callum’s body, on his heart. He pointedly didn’t think of how many other men had fucked him in the spaces between. All he had to do was grit his teeth, bear it, and let him walk away – although, admittedly, Ben looked awful, pale and gaunt in all the wrong places, eyes dark with fatigue. He wasn’t sure what mood he’d be in today, not sure if even Ben himself knew. He looked too skinny, underneath all those clothes.

“Hard at work, are we? Nice to see you’re taking this all,” here, he gestured broadly, seemingly referring to the room at large, “very, very seriously.”

Callum’s lip twitched, only slightly; he’d been up half the night helping Whit to alphabetise the guest list. He really didn’t have the energy to be made fun of today. “D’you want something?” he asked, in an effort to cut through all Ben’s usual rubbish, and frowned at the smile he flashed him in return, toothy and wide. Nothing good, then.

“I’ve come to proposition you. In a strictly business capacity, unfortunately, so don’t get too excited. Jay’s no dice, apparently, so I thought I’d try…” he paused, eyes wandering the room, over the desk, over Callum, “an alternative route.”

Definitely nothing good, then, and most probably something bent. Callum shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “If Jay don’t want nothing to do with it, why would I?”

Ben shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t even wanna know what it’s about?”

“Nah, you’re alright,” Callum replied, watching Ben watch him, glancing over the casual jut of his hip, the stretch of unshaved neck above his coat collar. “And, uh, if that’s all, then d’you mind…” Ben’s lips twitched, and he looked down at his hands, and his face became a little softer, a little more tired. Callum was struck, then, by the sudden sensation of pretence, of the knowledge that this playing back and forth between the both of them was stretching thinner by the day. He wondered if Ben had even had a business question in the first place, if it had just been an excuse to see him. The thought made the hairs on the back of Callum’s neck stand up, he hardly dared to think it. He told himself he was annoyed by Ben’s emotional foreplay, that he what he did in his own time was his own business, that he wasn’t bothered by his loud and very public self-capitulation. It took more effort to believe in it.

“Alright. I’ll be at the Arches, then. If you need me,” Ben said, and no, it wasn’t just Callum’s imagination, that was definitely erotic, that definitely meant something. He sat still and silent as Ben walked out, closed the door behind him, warm and awkward and flushed an embarrassing shade of pink, and only when the sound of footsteps had faded to an echo did he stand up and walk after him. The possibility of something, of pleasure, of warmth, scratched at the edges of Callum's mind, made his breath heavy. 

“Hey – wait,” Callum called, rounding the door after him, and he blinked at Ben’s back as the other man didn’t even break his stride on the way out. “Ben,” he tried again, too self-conscious to shout but speaking as loud as he dared, watching him open the front door and slip away onto the street. Well, fuck. And Callum had really thought he was genuine, this time. Another shag, another conquest; that’s all it ever was to him. Never mind Callum’s big, gay identity crisis, no, not if he was getting a lay out of it. _Dickhead_ , he thought, directing this at both Ben and himself as he thrust open the front door a little harder than was necessary, gripped with the sudden anger of being deceived, and of believing it.

It took a bit of awkward speed-walking to catch up to Ben, but he wasn’t shouting across the street for him, not on his life. Callum briefly wondered why, exactly, he was chasing another man down like this, what he thought he’d get out of it, but he cast that to the back of his mind, determined to ignore anything that even felt like romance. Because it definitely, certainly wasn’t.

“Oi!” he hissed, and Ben paused, stopped, turning around to face Callum with a frown that he could have mistaken for real confusion. He was aware how stupid he looked, red-faced and a little out of breath, sweating in his nice work suit, and was even more aware that Ben could see just how bothered he was. “I’ve been shouting you since you left the office.” Callum wondered what witty, gay insult he’d pull out of his arse for him, this time.

“Sorry, mate, you’ll have to speak up. It’s all a bit quiet today, y’know.”

Callum stared at him, and narrowed his eyes, and really, he wasn’t a violent person, but he could have knocked Ben fucking Mitchell clean out, right then and there, and he wouldn't've felt too bad about it. He could put up with just about any teasing, he knew he was good-natured, but Ben was just being a wanker for the sake of it, he was sure.

“Are you taking the piss?” Callum asked, genuinely curious. Maybe this was a progression of self-destruction, a means to an end for him. Be insufferable, get sparked by the guy you fancied. Kinky, and tragic. It caught him a bit off-guard, then, when Ben just frowned and gestured vaguely in the direction of his ear, seemingly genuine, with an expression that needled Callum even more.

“No, really. I ain’t being funny, I’m just… a bit deaf,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve found that, generally, if you want to pick up a decent shag, leave the hearing aid at home. The sex is great, but everything else – just a bit harder.”

Oh. Fuck. He’d never thought about Ben’s hearing aid before, or the glasses he was supposed to wear. It turned his insides to bits, that he’d been that stupid. And angry. And desperate.

“Uh, were you wanting something, then? Changed your mind, fancy a bit of extra cash, did you?” Ben asked, smiling, and Callum burned, everything hot and tight and unbearable. He didn’t know what he’d been chasing, was the honest answer. Just that he couldn't bear to see it walk away from him. Sex? Companionship? That look Ben sometimes had, the one without pretence, the one Callum searched for every time they spoke? The last time they’d had sex, he had cried afterwards. This wasn’t a romance. This was all his fault. _What do you want, Callum?_ He wasn’t about to start telling the truth, not now.

“Uh, 's nothing. Just…” He couldn’t bear the way Ben was looking at him, like he cared more than he said he did, like there was something he wanted to hear, something he was waiting for. _This ain't fair. You knew what you were getting into_. “Just, uh, that I don’t think you should speak to me anymore. At work, I mean. It’s, uh. Distracting.”

Ben’s face fell, then rearranged into something similar to a smile, but with too many teeth on show. He shrugged, his movements a little sharper. Callum ignored the way his coat seemed too big for him, falling loose around the neck and the waist. A front door slammed shut; a car rolled past, suspension groaning as it hit a speed-bump. “Okay, Callum,” he said, eyes tight, and turned, and walked away. Callum watched him leave, watched him round the corner and disappear from sight, didn’t move even after he was long gone. This wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the one he had to live with. In his suit pocket, his phone buzzed once, twice. He hadn’t even remembered picking it up when he left the office. Slowly, he dug it out, touched the home button. When he read it, he almost laughed. It was from Whit, of course. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idea shamefully stolen from @all_we_see_is_sky. check out their awesome deaf!ben fic.
> 
> poem at the start is an excerpt from the silver lily by louise glück.


	2. Chapter 2

_this hour it is not_

_your body i want_

_but your quiet company_

The second time it happened, they had just fucked. It was the small hours of the morning, and everything felt larger than life itself – the wind in the trees outside, the hum of traffic, Ben’s sleeping body beside him. Somewhere distant, a dog was barking. Callum had said nothing, but he hoped that, between it all, he’d given an answer to the question Ben had been holding him prisoner to. At the very least, it felt good – which it always did, better every time, the best sex he’d ever had. Not as if there was much to choose from, but still.

He’d asked, at some point. Ben had only been a kid; meningitis, hospital-bound for a bit, not dead but deaf in one ear, glasses, dizzy spells from time to time. _Good enough for me_ , he’d said, and rolled over. Callum had kissed his neck and told him it was sweet. This wasn’t a romance.

“I dunno if you want me because you like me, or because you miss being with someone.”

Callum had found that, in the moments that Ben wasn’t wearing his hearing aid, he became an incredible listener. If he whispered, and he was careful about it, he could tell him anything and he wouldn’t hear a word. It felt quite a lot like lying – although, really, it was an excess of truth – but Callum was no stranger to keeping things a secret, felt almost relaxed at the thought of blameless catharsis, no questions asked. And really, he was telling Ben everything he wanted to hear. It wasn’t Callum’s fault that he was listening in all the wrong places.

“And I dunno if I want you to want me, not in that way.”

Honesty was a rotten tooth that you couldn’t resist running your tongue over, the bus that you were always too late to catch. Ben was beautiful in the shadow of the bedroom, crooked nose and bruises and eyelashes, long and dark and unguarded, beautiful in the same way you found black holes beautiful, the same way you looked at the setting sun even if it blinded you. He thought of Whit’s red hair, and the way she talked in her sleep. He wasn’t falling in love. This was just about sex, and about Ben’s need to have power over other people. He wasn’t gay, and he would marry Whit, and it wouldn’t make him happy but it would be easy and it would feel like almost the same thing. He thought about Ben’s hearing aid, about the blood on his face after a beating. Callum would always choose what was easy over what was brave. Honesty was a staircase, heading down into darkness.

“Sometimes I wish I could leave Whit. Most of the time, really. But I know I never will, not like this.”

Callum shifted, traced a finger down the curve of Ben’s neck. He looked peaceful when he was sleeping; younger, somehow. Like this, he could almost imagine that the man beneath him was a Ben from a different universe, a world that had treated him a little kinder. A softer Ben, a Ben without anger. For some reason, it didn’t feel quite the same. Outside, birds were beginning to sing, and the beam of two twin headlights cut through the darkness of the room, suspending everything in a burst of sudden clarity.

“It ain’t fair. This ain’t as easy as you want it to be.” 

Beside him, Ben stirred, and Callum watched the slow, languid movements of his face, the pull of his mouth as he breathed, and felt the sudden, frightening intimacy of another man’s vulnerability, of being with someone at their most naked and unafraid. He was only half-awake, hearing but not listening, and that suited Callum just fine. _In another life, I could have fallen in love with you_. Light, grey and plaintive, slipped through the cracks between the shutters in the gentle lift of dawn. _I only know myself when you’re with me_. _I’m terrified I’ll never be this happy again_. _You make me feel like a man._ He let these thoughts take shape, blossom, then drift away, cast into the small part of his heart which knew exactly what it wanted. Maybe some things were better left unsaid.

“Hmm? D’you say something?” Ben asked, his voice the slow murmur of someone still asleep, lazy and unfocused. He had nothing to hurry for. Callum blinked, pressed his lips against the bare skin of Ben’s shoulder. He was so warm, so certain beneath him.

“Nah,” he whispered, feeling the thickness at the back of his throat as he swallowed around it. “S’nothing. Go back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was somehow less sad in my head. 
> 
> thanks for reading! poem at the start is from speaking to you (from rock bottom) by michael ondaatje.


End file.
